I Have To Feel What

The Only Consistent Narrative We Possess Is One That We Share With Every Other Life-form: We Are Born, We Live, And Then We Die.

What Matter The Colour Of The Collar Around A Man's Neck, If The Chains Linked To Them Were Identical?

So You Say, With Your Shiny Hair And Pouty Lips - And Those Breasts - Just Wait Till You Start Dropping Whelps, They'll Be At Your Ankles One Day, Big As They Are - Not The Whelps, The Breasts. The Whelps Will Be In Your Hair - No, Not The Shiny Hair On Your Head, Well, Yes, That Hair, But Only As A Manner Of Speech.

Believe It Or Not, Friendships Are Difficult To Write In Fiction. They Can Easily Come Across As Forced, Particularly If They Involve Too Much Explication And Too Many Overt Gestures Of Affection.

One Day, Perhaps, You Will See For Yourself That Regrets Are As Nothing. The Value Lies In How They Are Answered.